


Teenage Dream

by kosmickway (KMDWriterGrl)



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/kosmickway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Catherine finally go on their long awaited first date ... with hot results. A follow-up to "The Way You Are," though reading it certainly isn't a prerequisite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teenage Dream

_“You make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream the way you turn me on. I can’t sleep … let’s run away and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back. My heart stops when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real. So take a chance and don’t ever look back. ”_

The strains of the popular Katy Perry song drifted from the door of the bar next to The Bellagio. Catherine, subjected to it hundreds of times on trips to and from SAT study sessions with Lindsay, was actually quite fond of the song, though she kept the singing and dancing to herself until Lindsay was out of the house. Nothing more embarrassing than having a mother who not only liked your music but sang along with it as well.

“Let’s go in for a second,” Catherine called above the din, pulling on Jim’s arm. “I love this song!”

“We were just dancing to Sinatra,” Jim protested good-naturedly. “Now you’re going to ruin that with kiddie pop?”

“Shut up and come on,” she responded, pulling him into the entrance way and past the indifferent bouncer.

They’d finally gone out on their long-postponed date to Marsala. After weeks of making plans, only to have them thwarted by last minute crises at the crime lab or the LVPD station, they’d both finally resigned themselves to taking a day off with strict orders to their staffs not to disturb them unless the world was coming to an end.

Catherine had spent a rare leisurely morning sleeping in and then puttering around in the woefully neglected garden in the back of the house. She’d taken herself out to lunch and then treated herself to a facial, a manicure, and a pedicure at her favorite day spa in the afternoon before coming home for a long hot bath, a nap, and all the primping and sprucing she wanted for her date with Jim.

He’d given her a long, hungry look when she greeted him wearing her favorite little black dress—a clingy, off the shoulder number with long belled sleeves and a skirt that fell just above her knees, topped off with calf high black heeled boots. She’d curled her hair into loose spirals and dusted her collarbones with body glitter, put on her favorite teardrop diamond earrings from Sam and the matching thin silver chain with emerald and diamond teardrops. Catherine knew she looked good but seeing the appreciative warmth in his eyes made her light up.    

Dinner had been amazing from start to finish, from the meltingly tender cinnamon rubbed pork and perfectly steamed broccoli, to the tangy vinaigrette in the strawberry spinach salad, and the perfect meld of raspberry, chocolate, and vanilla in the airily whipped cheesecake they’d shared for dessert. The rich Merlot Jim chose was excellent enough that she allowed herself two glasses with dinner. They’d listened to the band play while they ate dessert and Jim made good on promise of sweeping her around the dance floor to Sinatra songs and made her laugh delightedly when he sang along with “The Lady is a Tramp.”

They’d flirted all through dinner, their touches—on the hand, the wrist-- growing more frequent as the evening wore on. Though Jim would never have been so inappropriate as to grope her in a public forum—especially in a classy public forum—he had made very clear through whispered suggestions in her ear and light touches on the small  of her back exactly what he wanted to do to her when they got back to his place.

They’d left, intending to head back to Jim’s, but the music stopped her. The rhythm was infectious, bubbly, and fun, the lyrics (as she well knew) flirtatious and slightly daring. She wanted to go back to Jim’s place and to whatever awaited them feeling bold, bubbly, daring… and young.

“Come on!” Catherine called, pulling him onto a corner of the crowded dance floor and throwing herself into the song.

_We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach, got a motel and built a fort out of sheets. I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I’m complete. Let’s go all the way tonight. No regrets, just love. We can dance until we die. You and I will be young forever._

Grinning suggestively at Jim, she ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders and then back down his arms to grab his hands and place them on her hips.

 _You make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream, the way you turn me on._ _I can’t sleep—let’s run away and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back._

With his hands where she wanted them, she turned her back to his front, pressed close to him, and moved her hips, stopping mere millimeters short of actually grinding against him. His fingers tightened on her and he laughed.

“I know you’ve got a good sense of rhythm, Jim Brass,” she called over her shoulder. “Find it!”

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, laughing, enjoying the hell out of the beautiful redheaded firecracker who’d managed to steal his heart right out of his chest.

_My heart stops when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe this is real. So take a chance and don’t ever look back, don’t ever look back._

By the third repeat of the chorus (and with a little help from her hands on his hips), he’d found a beat he could work with and was obligingly dancing along, though he spent more time watching admiringly as she improvised moves that were saucy, sweet, and suggestive all at once.

_I’m a get your heart racing in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hands on me in my skin-tight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight._

She ended the song the way she’d begun it-- laughing delightedly, eyes sparkling, hair tousled, a faerie queen in the midst of an all-night revel. It took every bit of self control he had not to pull her into a dark corner and kiss her senseless. Instead he put an arm possessively around her waist and whispered into her hair, “I want to get you alone.”

***

At Catherine’s request they drove with the windows down and when she found the Katy Perry song on the satellite radio again, she blasted it, turning the volume up until the bass rattled the speakers. She sang along, the wind tousling her hair.

“Aren’t you the one always making disparaging remarks about kids and their loud music whenever we get a case around the Strip?” Jim asked at a red light, grinning at her. “You’re worse than they are.” He pointed to a Hummer full of high schoolers two lanes over, who were blasting Usher and hanging out the windows.

“Gotta let your hair down sometimes, Jim,” Catherine replied, laughing as the kids cast skeptical glances at the two adults old enough to be their parents who were blasting pop music in a classic Beamer.

“Wouldn’t know anything about that,” he quipped, patting his closely cropped hair. The light changed and he headed through it, away from the Hummer of teens, eventually turning off the Strip and into the quieter neighborhood where he lived. He turned down the music and gave her a smile. “Sorry, my neighbors are less than understanding about loud music after nine-o-clock.” He parked, came around and opened her door. “But I’ve got a stereo in the house … in case you need to find your rhythm again.”

Catherine put her hands on his chest and backed him up against the car door. She rose onto her toes and whispered in his ear, “I never need help finding my rhythm.” She pressed her hips against his and ground against him for the sweetest five seconds Brass had ever known. Then she plucked the keys out of his hand and started toward the front door. “Coming?”

“You’d better believe it,” he said, crossing the lawn in several quick strides.

***

Catherine never knew what fueled it … the wine, the whispered innuendos, or that completely uninhibited dance. All she knew was that once she was in Jim Brass’s bedroom she found herself acting less like herself—a decisive woman who not only knew what she wanted but also knew how to show her lovers how to give it to her-- and more like an insatiable teenager who was more desperate to finish than to savor the act.

Catherine had no qualms about admitting it—she loved making love. She loved to tease and to tantalize—the instinct of a dancer, to leave her audience wanting more. She loved to BE teased and tantalized. There was nothing that pleased her so much in a lover as one who took the time to work her up to a fever pitch. A quick “rock your world and blow your mind” fuck was satisfying every once in a while but a planned seduction or an impromptu session of tantric sex was what really fueled her desires.

She’d thought about making love to Jim since the night he’d come over to her house a few weeks ago, dressed to the nines and carrying flowers, apologetic that he hadn’t made himself clear on his intention to take her to Marsala that night. They’d ended up staying at her place instead of going out, making out on the couch in between erotic episodes of “The Tudors.” 

If someone had asked Catherine what her type was, she’d have described a man who looked more like Warrick than Jim. She liked the men her daughter would describe as “upper scale hot”—the guys who rated eights, nines, and tens on the “hotness scale.” Warrick with his deep voice, his beautiful eyes, and his gym-sculpted body was the kind of man who made her stomach fill with flocks of butterflies and her blood fill with a heat that was almost animalistic. Her type was a man any woman would look twice at when he crossed a crowded room.

Outwardly, Jim Brass wasn’t her type. Not that Jim wasn’t handsome—the more she looked at him over the last few weeks, the more she’d started to notice his rugged appeal. Jim isn’t upper scale hot … the looks that turn his way in a crowded room are because of the badge and the gun, not the physique. But he’s managed to turn her head in a way that few other men have been able to.

The kiss they’d shared at the kitchen door had only been the beginning. Despite her preference for making out with someone where she had room to stretch out and move, she’d let him tumble her on the couch, his hands moving over her with sure, warm strokes one moment, feather light touches the next.

If there was one thing she fell in love with immediately about Jim, it was his large, gentle hands. The feel of them on her, a comforting press against her skin, made her feel as if she were being stroked all over with heavy velvet. He used the utmost care when he touched her, as if she was delicate crystal, though Catherine most enjoyed the moments when, excited and aroused, he pressed a little harder than he normally would have or stroked her with a bit more force than he intended. She liked knowing that she made him feel out of control. 

“Catherine,” he groaned into her neck. “How far do you want this to go? Because my self-control’s not going to hold out much longer.”

Catherine laughed and raised herself to kiss him. He was on top of her, straddling her hips, his weight a comforting press on her lower body.

“It can go as far as you want it to,” she replied, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. “I’m having a little problem keeping myself in check, too.”

“You want to move this back to your bedroom?” he asked, toying with a strand of her hair. “Get a little more comfortable?”

“I’m plenty comfortable here,” Catherine said. She shot him a ‘come hither’ look. “But I do want a little room to stretch out and … move around.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, moved her hips under his, getting a feel for the way he responded to her.

Jim groaned in frustration. “Woman, you’re making it impossible for me to get off this couch, especially when you move like that.” He slid a hand behind her neck, pulled her up to him, and kissed her heatedly. “You’ve got me so hot, I could take you here and now,” he growled in her ear. “Do you know what you do to me?”

“I’m getting an idea,” she murmured back, reaching down to lower his zipper. Jim stopped her hand.

“Bedroom,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I want to do this with you on a bed.”

She led him back to her room … he’d seen it once before, having cared for her after she’d been attacked by a suspect and come home with a concussion… and was undressing him before they were even halfway through the door. She impatiently worked at the buttons on his shirt until, unable to stand it any longer, she gave up and pulled him onto the bed with her, tugging at his belt, then at his zipper.

He was bigger than she’d expected, wider than she was used to. She took him in her hands, then in her mouth, relishing the way he shuddered under her touch. He tangled his fingers in her hair as she worked him, occasionally tightening his grip when she scraped her teeth or squeezed. She didn’t mind it—considered it a mark of her skill that she could still drive a man to complete distraction even before he was inside her.

Catherine never tired of hearing a man groan her name—it was a powerful bit of ego stroking to hear the rough urgency in his voice as she worked him to his highest point. Hearing her name on Jim’s lips was deeply erotic—she’d never seen the seemingly unflappable captain lose his cool before.

“Fuck, Catherine!” he gasped, his fingers tightening in her hair. “Oh, baby, that’s good.” He was trying his hardest not to thrust with his hips, perhaps not sure how much of him she could handle, his body shuddering. “So close.”

He came with a groan, his hips jerking, his hands tangled in her hair. When he sat up halfway to check on her, still breathing hard, he found a slightly smirking Catherine, licking her lips, eyes sparkling.

“God, you are one hell of a woman.” He took her wrist and pulled her on top of him, brushing his lips across her neck. “Why don’t you tell me what I can do to return the favor?”

The suggestion she whispered in his ear made him laugh. “Oh, I think that can be arranged.”

Catherine quickly discovered that Jim was one of those rare men who understand how to give and take in bed. He guided her where he wanted her and then let her do the steering, showing him what she liked. She hated sleeping with men who assumed that they knew what she wanted better than she did. Jim, thank God, wasn’t like that. He knew she was accustomed to being in charge—of everything, including love-making—and he was happy to learn what she wanted before introducing her to the things he thought she might like.

She’d wanted to sleep with him that night—had come as close as she ever had to begging a man to stay. But Jim had been the one to insist that they wait on the love-making until they could top off a perfect evening at Marsala. He’d laughed gently at the frustration apparent on her face and kissed her on the neck, his lips lingering on her pulse point. “It’ll be worth the wait,” he’d murmured. “Trust me on that.”

Consequently, she’d been fantasizing about making love to Jim for weeks, seeing it behind her eyes before she went to sleep, when she was brushing her teeth, even when she was waiting for evidence to process in the lab. It was always a little jarring to see him walk into the lab or her office when she was thinking of him that way—she could never stop herself from blushing.

What she’d been dreaming of behind closed eyes was nothing like this. That had been a smooth and sensual tango, a sweet slide of movement … clothes sliding from bodies, hands passing reverently over silken skin, slow, leisurely thrusts.  This … the sudden ripping of clothes, the raking of nails on skin, the coolness of the wall at her back as Jim lifted her and took her standing … it was a hyper-erotic salsa, a dance that was all boiling blood and slick sheens of sweat.

“God, Cath, I’ve wanted you,” he murmured, holding her up with strong arms as he moved into her. “Wanted you for forever and a day.” He nipped at the skin where her neck met her shoulder. “Sweet Jesus, you feel incredible.” He pressed at her hips, encouraging her to settle her weight more firmly on the point where they were joined. “Tell me how you like it.”

“Like this,” she managed around a moan, “just like this.” She arched her back, pressing her head back against the cool plaster. “I love feeling you like this.”

He kissed her throat, his breath starting to come shorter. “Do you know … how long I’ve been dreaming … of being inside you?” He thrust up with every intake of breath. “So long, baby. I’ve wanted this for so long.” He slid his hands to the small of her back, pulling her closer. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear my name on your lips.”

She hadn’t realized how high he’d taken her until she suddenly found herself falling off a peak so jagged she felt her stomach lurch. “Oh god,” she gasped, grabbing at the hard muscles in his back as the need for something to hold on to overtook her. “Oh god, Jim!”

She shut her eyes and let it roll over her, arching hard then sinking bonelessly against him when the wave of molten sensation passed, leaving her shaking. Brass lowered them both to the floor and held her as she started to come back to herself.

“That wasn’t … how I normally … spend my first night with my lovers,” Catherine managed after a moment, finally looking Jim in the eye. She laughed shakily. “But I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it!”

“So, Cath likes being the boss in and out of the bedroom, huh?” he asked, stroking her hair. “I can handle that.” He leaned in to kiss her. “Can you handle it sometimes if I’m the boss?”

“Oh yeah.” Catherine tried to get to her feet and had to sink back down again, her legs were still shaking so hard. “Especially if that’s what I get when you’re in charge.”

“It’s going to be grueling,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I’m going to work you hard.”

“Same goes,” she replied, letting a saucy grin cross her lips. She reached to touch his face. “Jim.”

“Cath.” His hand came up to cover hers.

“That bed looks MUCH more comfortable than the floor.”

Brass laughed and extended a hand to help her up. “Don’t worry …you’re about to become acquainted.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her, the sweet, silken kiss she’d been dying for all evening. “My heart stops when you look at me,” he murmured in her ear, parroting a line from Katy Perry.

“Good,” she murmured back. “That’s how I know this is real.”

END.


End file.
